


Letters

by Ladycat



Category: Friday - Fandom, Friday Night Lights
Genre: Drabble, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-12
Updated: 2014-02-12
Packaged: 2018-01-12 02:43:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1180974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladycat/pseuds/Ladycat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, though, Tim likes to feel connected to a town that's never once connected to him, and so he puts it on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Letters

Tim's got a letter jacket. All the football players do even though no one ever asks them to go and pay for the pretty white leather with the colors of Dillon splashed bright on top. They're just handed over like he's got a right to it.

He doesn't wear his, hardly, what with it being Texas and all. It gets cold, all right, but there's always a house to duck into or a pretty girl to warm him right back up. He wears long sleeves when he needs to and if he does need a jacket he uses the old, beat-up one that was Billy's before it was his and still smells like the cologne that Tim never wears.

Sometimes, though, Tim likes to feel connected to a town that's never once connected to him, and so he puts it on. It's heavy and stiff against his shoulders. It feels awkward. But it makes Bo's eyes light up like fire-crackers on a July night, so Tim grins and struts a little, hands sliding into the pockets natural as breathing: he never does know what to do with his hands if there's no pig-skin in them.

The paper crinkles against his fingers, cool and fragile. He pulls it out with a flourish, trying to hide the way his wrists want to shake and his eyes sting a little. It was Lyla's, once upon a time. Jay had bought it for her, tossing it over with a laugh at how girlish she was being, wanting a bit of raspberry sugar. She'd had to go and smack him straight after that, so it'd fallen into his hands, his pocket, and it feels so long ago that it hurts like an ache in his chest, like when he swallows his beer too fast and something big and living sets up shop inside his throat, under his breastbone.

"Hey, Bo," he says, smiling. He can't help it, with this kid. Bo's mouth moves so fast he has to gasp for air sometimes and the hero-worship doesn't sit right with him, but for once, Tim doesn't want to be the one to break his heart. Someone else'll do that, for sure. But this time it won't be Tim Riggins. "Hey, kid. You want a lollipop?"


End file.
